


Elastic Heart

by sterlingstars



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve is so gentle and he is trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4695878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlingstars/pseuds/sterlingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes is finally home, and he is finally safe. Of course, things don't exactly go back to normal as soon as he comes through the door. They're got a lot of work to do, and a lot of damage to repair. Luckily, Steve's on his side- and maybe things aren't so bad, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elastic Heart

**Author's Note:**

> _"You did not break me,_  
>  I'm still fighting for peace.
> 
>  
> 
> _I've got a thick skin, and an elastic heart,_  
>  But your blade, it might be too sharp,  
> I'm like a rubber band, until you pull too hard.  
> But I may snap when I move close  
> But you won't see me move no more
> 
>  
> 
> _Cause I've got an elastic heart."_

Things have been... complicated, ever since Bucky came back. It's been six months, and Steve's world is still in what feels like utter chaos. 

He knew things would be different. Even if Bucky hadn't been the Winter Soldier, The Asset, it had still been seventy whole years since he'd seen Steve. Between the brainwashing, the violent programming, and the unfathomable amount of trauma Bucky's experienced in the past seventy years, Steve knows better. He knows to be cautious with his hope, to be gentle, not to push anything.

So he doesn't. It hurts. It's hard. But he doesn't push, because he knows from his own personal experience that it doesn't do any good. Bucky needs a little space to help with his recovery, and Steve can handle that. Right? Yes, he tells himself. He can handle this. 

For the time being, the fact that Bucky is alive and in one piece is enough to keep him going. And he does make progress, though it's a little slow. Every day, he remembers more things, comes a little more into himself. He asks Steve questions about some of his memories, to see if they're true, or sometimes just to talk about them. Steve indulges him constantly, never denying Bucky a conversation about the past. It helps him, too, to talk to someone who actually knows him, even if only in fragments. 

Bucky keeps his long hair. He trims it a little, cutting off the dead ends, but keeps it to his shoulders. He lets Tony get a look at his arm and repair it, though that took a few months. He has plenty of unfollowable conversations with Natasha in Russian, which is always a bit of a strange sight for Steve, but it seems to do wonders for him. He hasn't gone to a therapist yet, though Steve doesn't blame him. It just seems impossible for someone to really undertsand what's happened to them. Two men, yanked from their own century and thrust into something they never really asked for, surrounded by people who will never really get it.

It takes eight months for Bucky to completely open up to Steve.

They're sitting on the couch in Steve's apartment in the Avengers Tower, the remains of their Chinese takeout scattered on the coffee table, the tv playing for background noise. Steve is barefoot, cross-legged on the couch with his sketchbook balanced on his knee as his pencil scratches across the paper. He's sort of mindlessly sketching, drawing out hand poses. His hand is smudged with the pencil lead, slate grey smeared across his skin. Bucky is reading something on his tablet, eyes drifting lazily across the screen. It's quiet, gentle. 

Evening is settling over New York City, soft orange light spilling through the window-covered wall of the living room. It's been a very lazy day, with just Steve and Bucky together in his apartment. Tony gave Bucky his own space in the Tower, but a lot of times he ends up at Steve's. Over the last month, he's allowed himself to sleep here sometimes, which always gives Steve a warm feeling. 

Bucky looks up from his tablet, and clears his throat. Steve stills his hand and looks up from his sketchbook, blinking a little.

“Steve,” he says quietly.

To hear Bucky say his name always gets him. It's a little pang in his chest- part of the ache attached to Bucky that never goes away. He doesn't break eye contact, gently setting his sketchbook on the table.

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice soft.

“I... I think it's time we talked,” Bucky says. His voice is low, gentle, cautious. He fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt. “We haven't. Talked, I mean. About a lot of things. Natalia said it's a good idea to talk to you. She said it would help me feel better.” 

Steve is very attentive, now. He adjusts his position, turning himself on the couch to face Bucky. He's curled up, kneed against his chest, leaning against the armrest. 

“I'd like that,” Steve says. “But only if you want to. You know you don't have to tell me everything- right, Buck?”

He nods, swallowing. 

“I just... She's right. It helps, when I talk to her. She understands some of the things that happened to me. And you... you would understand, too. Look at us, Steve. We were both ripped out of our lives and thrown into another one.”

“We've been through the ringer, haven't we, Buck?” Steve asks gently.

Bucky lets out a humorless laugh, a short bark of sound. He runs his metal hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. He sets his tablet on the table and adjusts so that he's facing Steve, his legs stretched across the couch and feet brushing Steve's legs. Steve welcomes the contact, however subtle it is- Bucky hasn't been fond of touching, which is understandable, but a little hard on Steve sometimes. 

He looses a sigh, a look of concentration on his face. His lips are pouted, brow drawn into a firm line, and the look is so familiar that it makes Steve ache. That's his Bucky, right there, in that look. 

“I don't really know where to start.” His voice is small, and quiet- and it hurts, to hear that. “There's a lot.”

“Take your time,” Steve says gently. “There's no rush. Start wherever you feel like, Bucky.”

Bucky nods slowly, and takes a deep breath. Steve stays put, giving him a gentle look.

“They made me do a lot of terrible things,” he says after a moment. “Terrible, terrible things. They... they told me it was good. That I was being helpful, that I was saving the world. That was one of the things that stuck with me. I was doing something good.”

He rakes a hand through his hair again, letting a deep breath out through his nose. When he looks up at Steve again, his eyes are wide and bright, shining. Steve aches so deeply it knocks the wind from him for a moment. Bucky hasn't even really started on what he wants to say yet, and Steve knows, deep within himself, that there is nothing that could ever really prepare himself for this conversation. He knows it's going to be hard. He swallows, willing the pain away. This isn't about him, right now. 

“And really, for a long time... I didn't think. I didn't have to. They gave me my missions, made me go, and I did it. I always did it. Because if I didn't... they would punish me.” He shudders a little as he says the word, and Steve has to fight the urge to lose his dinner. “I won't talk about what they did. I don't wanna talk about that. But they fucked me up, Steve. They did a lot of bad things to me, if I messed up or if I didn't listen.”

He rakes a hand through his hair again, looking down at his lap. Steve hasn't moved a muscle since Bucky opened his mouth.

“They didn't want me to remember Bucky. They didn't want me to remember who I was before they found me. They did a lot to make sure it stayed that way. I... still don't feel right, all the time. I don't feel the way I used to, before they took me. I'm not the same, Steve.”

And he keeps going from there. He talks and talks, and it's the most Steve has heard him speak since he first laid eyes on him under that bridge. Bucky talks about a lot of things that happened to him, sometimes going into detail, sometimes not. He keeps his eyes resolutely fixed on his hands, which are sitting idly in his lap. 

Steve can hardly breathe the entire time he's speaking, barely moving a muscle. He wills the tears that well in his eyes to stay put, but eventually they just fall, silent and steady down his face as he listens. Everything he read in those files, and everything he imagined, is ten times worse coming from Bucky's own mouth. Even the things he knows are worse once he says them, and Steve is trembling a little, though whether from anger, sadness, or fear, he doesn't even know. Maybe it's everything at once. That seems more likely. 

But he listens. He doesn't interupt, even when he just wants to say sorry. He bides his time and listens to Bucky speak, and that's enough. He earned this. He's spent a long time keeping it in. Steve idly wonders how much of this Natasha has already heard, but something tells him very little. Steve is the first to know, and that thought sends a pang through him. 

After a while, he slows down, eventually stopping. Bucky just sits there, still looking at his hands. Steve waits patiently, not wanting to break the silence just yet. 

Finally, Bucky looks up at Steve. His look is hesitant, peeking through his lashes and hair that's fallen over his eyes, and Steve metls. Very, very slowly, he adjusts and reaches out for Bucky's hand. It's the metal one, and as his fingers brush it, it's cool. Steve very gingerly wraps his hand around Bucky's.

“You wanna know somethin', Buck?” He asks after a moment.

Bucky raises a brow, looking at Steve thoughtfully. He shrugs a little.

“I'm proud of you.”

Bucky's eyes widen, and he looks almost like a deer in the headlights. Steve suppresses a smile at the sight, trying to keep his sincerity in the moment.

“I mean it,” he says. “I... There are a lot of things I could say right now, but none of them seem quite right. So I'll settle for that. I'm proud of you, Bucky.”

“F-for what?”

He looks... vulnerable. His eyes are wide, and the way he's sitting, sort of curled in on himself, is reminiscent of a child. Steve offers a gentle smile, and softly squeezes Bucky's hand.

“I'm proud of you for telling me,” he says quietly. “Honored, even. That must have taken a lot out of you. The things that happened to you... I would take them back, if I could. But I can't. I have to accept the fact that I can't change what happened to either of us.” He takes a deep breath. “But what I can say is that we've been given a second chance, you and me. Who would've thought, huh? Us two kids from Brooklyn, given another chance to live the lives that got fucked up.”

Bucky's looking at him very intently, brows gently knitted together. His mouth is in a soft line. Steve suppresses the urge to run his tumb across it. It's something he would have done, back in the day. But this isn't then. It's now, and right now, he can't do that. So he settles for squeezing Bucky's hand again.

“Why aren't you afraid of me?” Bucky asks, and his voice is very quiet. 

Steve is taken aback. He wasn't expecting this. He takes a moment to consider that, for the first time in a long time. Really, there should at least be some small part of him that's afraid of Bucky. After all, he nearly killed him. He would have, if Steve hadn't fallen from the helicarrier. And yet... he can't bring himself to it. Even after everything Bucky did as the Winter Soldier, he can't find it in himself to be afraid, or even be angry.

“I'm not afraid because I know you,” Steve says. “And before you say I don't, which I know is what you're going to say- I do. I do know you, Bucky. Because you know me. You _knew_ me, on the helicarrier. You looked at me, and you saw Steve Rogers from Brooklyn. And I... I saw my best friend. I know you're still there, underneath all the bad stuff. 

You could have killed me that day. Hell, you almost did. But you didn't. You hesitated. You let me live. And that's when I knew that I didn't have to be afraid of you. Because you saw me, Bucky, and I saw you, too.”

Bucky rakes in a deep, shaky breath. He's looking like a wounded animal, sitting here on Steve's couch, and that is when he breaks. He abandons the decorum he's forced himself to maintain and leans forward, scooping Bucky into an embrace and holding him against his chest. He keeps his hold loose, so he can duck out if he wishes, but once he's there, Bucky doesn't move, which shocks Steve.

“You have more faith in me than I deserve,” Bucky says quietly into Steve's chest.

He chuckles, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. This night has been entirely overwhelming, but it's not finished yet, and Steve is determined to prove at least something to Bucky before he goes to bed. 

“You deserve all of my faith, Buck,” he says. “You deserve all of it and more.”

“I don't understand. I'm not the same Bucky. I probably never will be. It's gonna be a long time before things are okay again. And I've done bad things, Steve. Really bad things. Killed innocent people. Helped them be killed. You know that, right? I'm damaged goods.”

“I hate to break it to ya, Buck, but... so am I,” Steve says. “I've done some bad things, too. And, to be perfectly honest, I don't think either of us could ever have been the same, after what's happened to us. I'm not exactly the kid from Brooklyn anymore. Things change. People change.”

“What if I don't get better?”

Bucky's voice is so quiet, muffled against Steve's chest, that if it weren't for his serum-enhanced hearing, he wouldn't have heard it. But he does, and there goes another pang. Bucky's good at tugging on his heart strings, these days. 

“I think you will,” he whispers. “Maybe not all the way. God knows we can't go back. Some of this stuff just... stays. But I think you'll get better, Bucky. You won't be the same, and that's okay. Maybe you won't ever stop hurting, either. And that's okay, too. But you gotta believe me when I say that you're gonna get better- even if it's in just the small things.”

Bucky exhales, and it's warm against Steve's chest. He still hasn't stopped crying, though his tears have slowed. If he's not mistaken, Bucky is crying, too. 

They both really, really needed this.

“You're made of tough stuff, Buck,” Steve says quietly. “And I got a feeling it would take a lot more to break you.”

Bucky pulls away a little, lifting his head. His eyes are wide and watery, those pouty lips stuck out a little, and Steve is a little breathless at the sight. Gently, he puts his hands on Bucky's face, and wipes stray tears with his thumbs.

“What did I ever do to have you in my life, Steve?” Bucky asks.

“Ya know, I ask myself the same thing about you,” he says.

Bucky sighs, softly, and puts his flesh hand over one of Steve's. 

“You're here for a reason, Bucky,” Steve says after a moment. “I believe that with everything in me. And I think that me and you... we were meant to save each other, Bucky. Back in the day, you gave up everything to save me, and now it's my turn. I'm makin' up for lost time, here.”

Bucky chuckles softly, and the noise gets a little stuck in his throat. Fresh tears spill from his eyes, and now Steve is crying harder, too. He presses the softest, lightest kiss to Bucky's forehead, and brushes more tears from his cheeks.

“I said 'til the end of the line,” Steve says. “I meant it.”

“God,” Bucky says, and it's strangled. “Of course you did, Steve. Of course you did.”

“We're in this together, alright? Just you and me, against the world. Just like the good old days. Except the food's a lot better, and you don't have to beat up punks in alleys for me anymore.”

Bucky laughs, and it's shaky, but genuine. “I'll always beat up punks in alleys for you, Steve,” he says. “They might be bigger, better punks, and most likely robots, but... that comes with the territory, these days.”

Steve finds himself smiling through his tears.

They're going to be okay, Steve thinks. It's going to take time, and effort, but they're going to be okay, and they're going to be okay together. And that's all he could ever ask for.

**Author's Note:**

> As a recent bonus this fic has been graciously [translated into Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3574468) by the amazingly sweet [R_Clover](http://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Clover/pseuds/R_Clover)!


End file.
